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She stares up at me. I stare back.

I take a long breath. “And then there was a night that I saw a man and his wife sneaking medicine, and at first, I was so angry.” My jaw is tight. “I thought they were more smugglers. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I followed them out of the sector. And then—and then they met up with a girl—a girl about my age—”

She sucks in a breath. “You’re talking about me. My parents.”

I nod. “Yes. I saw what you were doing. I figured it out.” I pause. “I wanted to help. I didn’t know how to help.”

She’s still staring up at me, and I wish I could see that night through her eyes. I was keeping my distance, always so wary of getting tangled up with the night patrol, because I knew my actions would bring down Harristan. I remember how they dragged Tessa’s father out of the shadows, how he fought back. How her mother fought back. The crossbows fired before I could even get to them. I remember dragging Tessa away, clamping my hand over her mouth, trapping us both behind a copse of trees. She was shaking against me, tears soaking into my hand.

“I did what I could,” I say to her now, and my voice almost breaks. I have to take a shuddering breath. “I do what I can. And every day, I regret that it’s never enough.”

Moonlight sparks in her eyes, but I can’t read her expression. We stand there in silence, sharing breath.

A twig snaps, and voices carry through the trees.

I swear, grabbing hold of her hand, pulling her off the path. “Listen.”

Booted feet clomp along the path, with men speaking in low tones. I can’t tell if it’s the night patrol, but we’re deep in the wooded part of the Wilds, so it’s unlikely—though not impossible, since we’ve doubled the number of patrolmen. I hold my breath as they draw close.

Then I recognize the men. Dorry Contrel and Timm Ballenger. Both middle-aged forge workers from Steel City who have wives at home and half a dozen children between them. Hardworking men who grunt and moan about the king and his brother, but worry more about feeding their families and keeping them healthy than anything else. Tessa and I have brought their families medicine in the past, when they haven’t been able to manage food and tea leaves on their monthly wages.

It’s unusual for them to be out at this time of night.

I think of Jarvis, the man in the cell when I visited with Allisander. I was surprised to find him caught among smugglers, too.

I strain to listen, but I can’t make out much of what they’re saying, and the words I do catch aren’t incriminating. They’re heading our way, though, toward their homes.

Once they’re past, Tessa peers up at me in the darkness. The weight of everything I said hangs between us, but she only whispers, “Why are they out at this hour?”

I shake my head. “Let’s see if we can find out.”

We don’t follow the men straight to their homes. If they were out and about for anything untoward, I don’t want to spook them. Instead, we begin on the north side of the village. The first house is tiny, with hardly more space than our workshop. The roof leaks during the spring rains, but Alfred and Tris, the man and woman who live there, are in their late seventies and can’t climb up there to do any repairs. Months ago, I brought them a stretch of sailcloth with their medicine and within a day, others from the village had nailed it across the worst spots. Tris repaid me with fresh eggs, which Tessa took and boiled and brought the next morning for us to share in the workshop.

It’s been weeks since I was here, but it feels like years. My chest grows tight.

“I’ll keep watch,” Tessa whispers as we near the house. Her eyes are shadowed behind the mask, her lips a pale curve in the darkness. She must catch sight of my expression because she frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

I shake my head slightly. “Nothing.”

She squeezes my hand and slips into the shadows. I tap at the door lightly, three short raps followed by two more deliberate ones. It takes a moment, but eventually the door creaks open.

It’s Tris. She looks like she’s aged a decade. Her hair is thinner, her cheeks more sunken.

Her face breaks into a wide smile when she recognizes me. The joy and relief in her eyes is fleeting on her side, and gutting on mine.

“Weston,” she whispers. “We’ve been so worried.” She steps forward, her arms wide. No one reacts like this to my presence in the Royal Sector. Then her arms close around me, and it’s like being embraced by a ghost.

“Tris,” I say softly. “Have you been eating?”

“Here and there.” She doesn’t let go of me. “I forget sometimes without Alfred to remind me.”

Igo still. I knew our disappearance would have wide-reaching effects. I didn’t expect it to strike the first house we visited. “Alfred is gone.”

She finally draws back and nods. Her eyes well.

“Here,” I say, gesturing toward the room behind her. I sweep my gaze across the room, wondering if I can get her to eat something now. “Sit.”